


Masterpiece

by DarkDrabblings



Series: Dark!Hanzo Collection [4]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, Kidnapping, Physical Abuse, Rape/Non-con Elements, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-04-14 04:38:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14128236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkDrabblings/pseuds/DarkDrabblings
Summary: You were a blank canvas. Your body free to be painted however Hanzo wished. Something for him to command and perfect.You would be his masterpiece.





	Masterpiece

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys!
> 
> Here's my latest Hanzo fic that I wrote almost a month ago and I'm just now posting it here!

It was an unusual sultry evening in Hanamura, the air thick with humidity, while only a small warm breeze passed through the open window now and then, not enough to cool the dragon that stirred in the night. Hanzo was restless as he laid next to you, watching the slow rise and fall of your chest, while the moonlight reflected off the light sheen of sweat that covered your body. How you were able to sleep in such conditions, he didn’t know. Maybe it was because you had long ago become used to living under strenuous conditions. The thought made the corners of his lips twitch in amusement.

When the dragons had first found you, he hadn’t thought much about your looks. You were plain by his standards. Nothing out of the ordinary, unlike the other women who would throw themselves at his feet, and keep him company on nights just like this. He had no idea what the dragons saw in you that they hadn’t seen in others. However, after that first night, that first punishment, the first time he saw red pour from your skin and down your face, he knew what it was.

You were a blank canvas. Your body free to be painted however Hanzo wished. Something for him to command and perfect.

You would be his masterpiece.

Reaching out to you as you slept, his thumb brushed against the long, thin scar that trailed along your cheek.

The first brushstroke.

Hanzo allowed himself to smile as he fondly remembered the first time you ever spoke back to him. Arousal began to stir inside him, and he let out a small groan as he recalled the fear and hurt in your eyes.

His hand brushed the hair back from your face and continued along down your neck, the light trace of his fingers making your brows furrow in annoyance, stopping only to trace along the red and purple bruises along your neck. Some made from his lips, others with ropes, and the majority made with his hands. He felt no remorse for any of them. You had brought every single one on yourself.

Slowly, he sat up and pulled back the thin sheet that covered you both, admiring his handiwork from the bright light of the moon. Hanzo easily spread your legs and rested between them, calloused thumbs rubbing at the scars, old and new, that littered your inner thighs. He was proud to know where each and everyone had come from. The thought pleased him further, and he leaned over to place a chaste kiss on your lips before trailing down to a small scar on your chin.

That one you had gotten a few weeks ago, tripping when you tried to run away from one of his infamous rages. He had fun that night, watching you cringe and squirm, while he mounted you from behind. Instinctively, his hips ground against yours at the memory, his cock more than eager to retake you, but he stopped himself, wanting to relish a little longer in the memories.

Hanzo tucked his head in the under the crook of your neck, lips sucking at a patch of unmarked skin, while his hands moved from your legs to explore. It was as if they had a mind of their own, groping and kneading at the sensitive flesh on your ass and hips, stopping when you would whine in your sleep. The hand on your hip traveled further up, and Hanzo pulled away from your new bruise when his fingertips brushed along the deep grooves that ran down your torso.

Of all his damage on he’s done to your body, these are his favorite. Hanzo let out a deep sigh as he traced the stretch marks that lined your stomach. Signs of the heirs you had carried and given birth to these past few years. You were still young, still able to provide him with more than the two, and he was more than willing to take everything your body had to give. Reaching out, he grabbed your arm that lay listlessly next your head, and brought your hand to his mouth to kiss at your fingertips, a silent ‘thank you.’

However, the rare, sweet gesture was short lived when his lips moved down from your fingers, to palm, and finally, your wrist. A flash of anger and fear sparked through him when his mouth came to contact with the mangled scars that ran across your wrist. The one stroke he didn’t give you himself. The injury, deeply embedded in your arm, was a constant reminder of when his carelessness almost cost him everything.

Closing his eyes, he tried to block out the memories of that day. The feeling of his heart in his stomach when he saw you surrounded by a pool of red. Your lips a pale blue and skin a sickening shade of pale. The one brushstroke that he hadn’t given you himself. It was humiliating.

He hadn’t realized how hard he was gripping you nor the red marks that sprouted beneath his digits. Not until you stirred in your sleep, whining as you tried to pull away from his grasp. He did you a favor and dropped your hand back to your side; disgust now etched on his face as he looked at you. His cock twitched against your mound again, begging to slip inside, to punish you making him remember that day.

With a newfound purpose, he sat up and quickly turned your sleeping body over to your front. The sudden movement jostled you from your sleep, but as you lifted your head to look behind you, you found a heavy weight keeping you down. “You are vile,” he spat, giving himself a few strokes with his free hand before lining up against your entrance and pushing himself inside.

Hanzo slid in quickly, giving a loud groan when he realized that you were still wet from before. His hand moved to grasp at your hip, keeping you in place, while he fully withdraws to plunge back in. “Don’t move,” he ordered as you squirm. Your hands clench the pillow underneath your head as you struggle to breathe and nod. It’s easier to give into his demands, to let him pump another child inside your womb than it is to fight him.

The pressure on your head lifts, and he pets your hair. “Good girl,” he praises through clenched teeth. The hand moves from your head and down your back. Nails scratching your marred skin, pull a cry from your lips. You can’t tell if it’s sweat or blood that now drips down your back and silently pray that he gets it over with quickly.

The warmth of your walls wrapping around him in pain are too much, and it isn’t long before his hips begin to lose rhythm. You let out a sigh of relief when his hand reaches the small of your back, only to whimper as he drags it back up, to start again. You should be used to this, used to the pain, and in some ways you are. But when his cock is continuously pounding against your cervix, and nails digging into healing wounds, you find yourself unable to adjust to his brand of punishment.

He found himself closer to the edge as he watched the small beads of red appear on your back while you struggled to follow his order. This is what he loved about you. That just when he thought that he’d run out of canvas to paint, he found that you had a whole other layer. He adored the fact that you bled and cried for him, carried his heirs, and still managed to surprise him.

Hanzo leaned over to lick at the new wounds, groaning loudly as the mixture of salt and copper assaulted his senses and finally pushed him over the edge. His hips were slamming into yours one more time before he came, his seed quickly filling your womb again and spilling out. “Good girl,” he whispered as an arm reached around to wrap underneath you, pulling you closer to him as he rested his head on your back while he rode out his high.

Despite the stifling summer air in the room, you shivered beneath him. Trying to hold back the sobs as his lips sloppily traced the paths of his scratches. However, he felt like it wasn’t enough. He still had more to paint, and after all, you still had more than enough room left for improvement.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this, please don't hesitate to check out my other sinful writing on my Tumblr!
> 
> ****  
> [DarkDrabblings<](https://darkdrabblings.tumblr.com)


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